


Line Without A Hook

by robertstanion



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, Nightmare Time - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Autistic Paul Matthews, F/M, Getting Together, Recovery, Semi infected paul, Songfic, and then falls in love herself, emma perkins hates romance, everyone hates clivesdale, fluffy recovery, fuck clivesdale, paul lives gang, pokey slander but this is a pokey stan acc, song: Line Without A Hook - Rick Montgomery, technically possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robertstanion/pseuds/robertstanion
Summary: Emma didn't expect to fall in love with the guy who tipped her every day at beanies. Then The Apotheosis hit, and she realised she needed him more than ever before. unfortunately, he was almost dead, and unconscious. but then he wakes up and then she realises she did fall in love with him after all.
Relationships: Jane Perkins/Tom Houston (mentioned), Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 16
Kudos: 21





	Line Without A Hook

**Author's Note:**

> yoyo paulkins stans come get yo juice and also rick montgomery songfic? sirs i believe so

The curing process was harder than he’d ever thought it could be. Getting infected hadn’t been his plan. In fact…the plan hadn’t been his to claim at all. It had been Emma’s. After escaping Hidgens’ manor like hideaway, and after the helicopter crash, she’d formed this plan in her head. He knew she’d most likely had the assistance of Hidgens, but she was smart, and she had a smart mind. She told him that to blow up the meteor would end the apocalypse as they knew it. He’d grabbed a belt of grenades from the mangled chair that was barely keeping its structure and he headed off to The Starlight Theatre.

He remembered how it felt once he stepped foot into the place. Windex, lemon and mint filled his throat every time he inhaled. Separately, the scents would have been pleasant at a push, but together, they were purely sickening. In the dim light of the theatre, the blue spores floated around and glowed. They looked like fireflies. In the centre of the stage was the rock from outerspace. He shook his head and went to stride through the rows of seats to go and destroy it, but surely, he should have known it wouldn’t have been that simple.

He remembered breathing in too much as he began to panic, and his airways got clogged with something slimy. Instinctively, he went to pull the pin of the grenade he wore on his chest as if it were a badge, but his body went against him, and he started dancing. He broke free from the spell that had been placed over him for the past few minutes and unpinned the grenade, throwing it at the meteor, the other infected beings shrieking in defeat. He didn’t remember anything else after that.

Paul’s soul became part of the window that allowed the eldritch gods of The Black and White to peer into the havoc that was the dimensions they controlled. They were all powerful, all knowing. You couldn’t trick them. That particular dimension belonged to a sloth-like creature with watery yet matted blue fur. He wore a mask made of cracked stone that leaked the same blue substance that had the ability to infect the humans in his dimension. His brothers had already gotten their chance to take over their dimensions, and now that he was finally alone, he started up his own.

Pokotho had been underestimated by his siblings. His brothers and sister were always telling him how much more powerful they were compared to him, and he had to admit, they were much cooler as well. He admired them a lot. How couldn’t he? Wiggly, being the eldest, was the most powerful. Being an underwater creature, he could pull people into his dimension with ease, which is how Wilbur Cross ended up there. Tinky often told his siblings he was the most powerful, but he was second most at best. His ‘toy box,’ as he liked to call it, contained the souls of the living, the dead and the unborn. Webby was also the most powerful sibling, for she could communicate with humans, and she could undo consequences. Nibblenephim never used his power, and Blinky could only watch. It left him, Pokotho, who, in reality, was one of the most powerful.

He mustered everything he could up as he hoisted a meteor from The Black and White, forming it with his bare hands. Once it was complete, with the genetics of himself laced within the rock, he threw it, damaging the window that allowed the gods to peer into the real world. Over the course of the day, as another member became infected, the hole in the glass mended. Paul’s soul was the final one to fit the crack. Paul was the final puzzle piece, and Pokotho knew what he was doing.

He lifted up the glowing orb of his soul and plucked it from the window. Once done, Paul Matthews’ physical form became reality in the darkness of the place Pokotho called ‘home.’ Immediately, the thirty-three-year-old man cried out in terror, scuttling backwards, and Pokotho blinked why. Nobody had ever seen him as scary before. This was new. “It’s you!” Paul shouted, cradling his head out of distress.

“It’s…me?” Pokotho asked, goop dripping from the hole in his mask that was his mouth. His voice was very melodic, which often got teased about by his siblings who underestimated him. They’d learn to never underestimate him again.

“Y-You _killed_ me!” Paul said, and then started singing again. He clasped his hands over his mouth once more, and Pokotho’s mask widened into a smile.

“Did I?”

“Yeah! And-and I was supposed to have my kiss with _Emma_ because I was supposed to have my happy ending and then I just start singing and dancing and-“

“You can have your kiss with Emma.” Pokotho didn’t know who Emma was. “I’m Pokotho, God of music and poetry. You won’t have learnt about us in school. There’s six of us. We’ve been around since the beginning of time itself. And this? This is my home, The Black and White, a pocket of space in between dimensions. You came from the dimension in my control.” With Paul looking utterly clueless, Pokotho sighed. “They call me Pokey. ‘They’ being my brothers and my older sister. They named me after the Hokey Pokey…”

“The dance?”

“Yes.” He confirmed, before looking to Paul. “And I can give you everything you ever wanted, Paul. All you gotta do is…do what you do best, something you suppressed for the ultimate period of your life.” He walked forward and, with his dripping blue skin, tilted Paul’s chin up, looking into his blue eyes. They were a soft blue. He wasn’t fully infected yet. “Use your voice.”

“I vowed upon never singing again after-“

“High school, where you got homophobic slurs thrown at you because of you wanting to use your talent? And ableist slurs when you talked about why musicals overwhelm you? Force you into a sensory overload?” He looked at Paul, who nodded slowly. Pokey pointed to himself. “I can resolve that in seconds. If you give me access to your mind, you’ll be healed, and you’ll have Emma.”

“Emma…” Paul repeated the word as if it was unfamiliar to him. It certainly wasn’t, but she seemed so far away at that point. “What are the consequences?”

“You getting to be happy, but I assure you, it isn’t negative.” Pokey kept his hand held out to Paul, who took his hand. Pokey flashed him a smile and his eyes lit up. “Showtime…” he whispered. With the brightest flash in the realm since the dawn of time, Pokey allowed himself to be absorbed into Paul’s body, and together, they went hurtling down to earth. The goal was to infect Emma, to bring her into the inevitable family they’d created…but that had been his plan six weeks ago. Since then, Pokey had been getting weaker as Paul’s soul grew stronger. _Now_ Pokey understood why Uncle Wiley hated PEIP so much.

* * *

Being in charge of PEIP had been a dream come true for Colonel Schaffer, until she found out that she was actually going to be controlling the sister-precinct in Clivesdale. Her and the finest agents around, including Lieutenant Xander Lee, embarked on their mission at 7 that morning before the Nantucket Bridge was raised, so technically they hadn’t broken any rules. As if PEIP followed those rules anyway. Once there, they monitored what was happening in Hatchetfield, and watched as the squad became infected. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

When Xander told her there was a survivor on the island, they went back on the chopper with a medical crew and hauled her ass over. They got her set up in the hospital there, quarantining the area. She needed surgery to repair her leg immediately once she was there, and would need physical therapy, but aside from that, she’d be fine.

Two weeks later and someone named ‘Ben Bridges’ appeared at the doors, asking for Emma. Schaffer did a quick scan of his fingerprint and it didn’t take long to prove he was lying about who he was. A quick dart through the chest and he was out cold. She shot another few infected bastards who’d somehow made it across the island and ensured they were dead. She called to Xander to help her drag the man, Paul Matthews, into the hospital wing. This was a good way to test out the cure they’d been working on for The Apotheosis. They set him up on one of the beds and began his treatment. So far, it was proving to be effective, and Schaffer congratulated the theoretical physicist, but secretly, it wasn’t the cure at work.

It was Emma.

Emma had seen Paul come in restrained to the bed and she knew, just from the guilty pit in the bottom of her stomach, that he hadn’t made it out. She wasn’t mad at him, but she did feel something else towards him. Over the course of the two weeks she’d been recovering, she’d found out that her brother in law and nephew were both dead, and without Paul, she’d have no one left. To see him lying on the bed with the option of a cure being a high possibility to bring him back, she took his answer for him and said yes to the treatment.

He didn’t wake up for the first few days, but by the fourth day, he began to stir, and his eyes opened. Emma’s bed had been pushed closer so she could help Paul recover in any way that she could, and if it meant falling in love with him all over again, then let it be. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, singing her name. She did feel disappointed, but she’d half expected it. He was still semi-infected, she knew that. She was determined not to let him go again. She’d bring him back. She had to, or else who would she have to make black coffee for, and who would be there to make her smile at his shitty jokes and long rambles about what he was writing a review on for work?

Paul gave her something to work towards, and though she remained the spiteful woman she’d always been, she found that she was changing ever so slightly. She hadn’t noticed it fully until she heard a baby crying down the hallway and her first instinct wasn’t to find it and throw it out the window. She found herself sympathising with the crying baby which never happened before. She was definitely gentler than she’d ever been, and it all came down to Paul Matthews.

She did miss him. When she finally admitted to herself that she had gained feelings for the beanstalk of a man who walked into Beanies every day, it was too late. They could have shared a kiss if she hadn’t of coughed blood in his face. It was her fault. She sent him off to be the hero of their story, and now he was paying the price. He was getting cured of the infection, which she knew had to be a painful process from what PEIP were saying, which made her hurt as well. She didn’t want Paul to be in any pain at all. He should be alive, she shouldn’t.

PEIP had walked in and administered the cure to Paul as soon as he sang Emma’s name. He writhed in pain, and his eyes flashed bright bursts of blue, fighting against the restraints, which would only cause him more pain. Emma didn’t know how to calm him, so she grabbed his hand and looked at him. As soon as she did, he calmed, and she blinked, surprised with herself. He relaxed back down into the pillows and gave Emma’s hand a soft squeeze, before he lay still once more.

Every day PEIP gave Paul the cure. They strengthened it gradually, and his body was having positive effects to it. He was returning to his human state. This was good news, because if they could cure the last infected person involved with Pokotho’s ways, they could cure the entire island and cover it up as a faulty gas line that went without maintenance. After all, it wasn’t the first time they’d used that excuse, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Eventually, it got to the point where Paul was going hours without even uttering a note, and he was holding full conversations with Emma, which made her smile. It led to the decision that they’d wean Paul off of the cure, as he wasn’t as reliant on it anymore which was major progress. Paul was holding up really well, and Emma was so proud of him. Considering everything negative that happened since The Apotheosis, there was one good outcome, and it was how Paul and Emma’s relationship was beginning to form easily. They smiled, they laughed, and they kept each other sane. They were made for each other; it was evident that the universe had done one thing right for them.

That particular day, in the middle of September, Emma took her seat beside Paul’s bed as she’d done every day since he woke. She looked him over and found he was still asleep so far. She managed to smile, taking Paul’s hand in her own, looking over him. Paul was touch starved. She found that out relatively easy. This meant Paul didn’t care about how much contact Emma issued, but particularly liked when Emma held his hand when they were alone. Sometimes, he’d let go abruptly and say they weren’t alone anymore, but never expanded on the thought. She didn’t push him.

She didn’t like it when he became fearful of himself. He always attempted to hold back notes, scared to utter them in case he hurt Emma, but she knew he’d never do that. She didn’t like it when he went away. She wanted him back. She also didn’t like how sometimes, she’d find him hitting his arms, or his legs, which would cause her to grab his hands to stop him. He blamed it on his stims, but she’d watched him stim before and she knew he wasn’t destructive. Still, she loved him the same. He was still Paul at the end of the day.

As he started healing more and more, he explained that the thing that caused The Apotheosis actually took root in his brain, and sometimes would take control over him. In able for him not to hurt her, he felt like he had to pull himself away from her. That was when he’d first started being given the cure. Now he knew what being cured was like, he had a different grin that lasted eternally on his face. He was starting to move more fluently without a trace of a song following him, and he almost craved motion, for he started to become more physical with Emma. He’d run his hand through her hair, or cup his cheek, but he’d also adjust her collar. She never pulled away.

She sighed softly whenever he did it. He had a maternal instinct to him that followed him throughout his treatment process. He wanted to protect her, setting his own worries aside. She was important to someone, to _him._ And sometimes there were the good days, sometimes there were the bad days, and there would sometimes be the days where the infection rate in his blood would grow instead of shrink like it was supposed to, but they took it one day at a time. After all, it was all that they could do.

He squeezed her hand again to tell her that he was starting to wake up, and she smiled. He stirred slightly and yawned before his eyes opened, and they had more colour to them than they ever had before. “Mornin’…” he mumbled, and she smiled.

“Good morning. You slept well,” she commented, and he nodded, yawning again, his free hand reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“You were a pond in my dream last night. I don’t know if that has anything to do with Drowsy Town being a literal body of water while being a pocket of time and space that can only be accessed through advanced science but…” he shrugged. “I think it’s Mr Pokey’s last attempt at trying to get through to me. To claim me forever and always.”

Emma nodded as she tapped her good foot on the floor. “Well, if I’m a pond, then you’re an ocean. Cuz- cuz I’m small and you’re fuckin’ huge man-“

“Hey!” Paul said and pouted at her. “I’m not _that_ tall!”

“You’re 6’, Paul. I’m 5’. You are literally an entire foot taller than me. I will take this to the grave.” Then she cringed at herself. “Actually, maybe don’t take it to the grave. I almost lost you once, I don’t wanna go through that again.”

“Then you don’t have to.” Paul’s voice was surprisingly soft, and she stopped, not expecting him to be so soft with her. There and then, she felt all her emotions explode, combusting into a brightly lit flame that would then spark whatever they both wanted to become. Neither of them were hiding it very well. The only issue was neither were making a good job of being the first to make a move. This always happened while she was around Paul. Her feelings became all twisted up, and butterflies settled in her stomach, and she couldn’t shake them. While Paul was drowning out the sound of Pokotho and The Apotheosis from his mind, killing the sounds and the melodies that wove together to create a song, she was trying to burn the butterflies that held her organs captive without her consent. Fuck the butterflies.

She also decided to make it obvious that she was going to try and hold off these feelings for as long as possible. Jane had been killed by love. She didn’t want to end up the same. She was scared of trying the unknown, but without Paul, she was a wreck. She needed him to stay with her so she could at least keep her sanity. The day they found each other, properly, before they got off the island, her bones broke on the shore, and she ended up crying as she looked to the sea. The sea was her lake, her confinement, but then again, where in Hatchetfield gave you the freedom required?

Apparently, they’d both cried at the lake, as they admitted to each other after a tough day from Paul having his cure upped by a dosage. He’d cried while he was sent off to blow the meteor up, and she was crying out of pain. There she went again, pressing her burdening mark upon someone else. If she could go back to that fateful day and avoid the helicopter entirely, then she’d be the one in his place and he’d be free. She’d pull him from the tide. It’s what he deserved, after all.

“I wouldn’t let you do that,” Paul insisted as he sat up, the hospital gown beginning to grow too small for him as his weight came back. The Apotheosis had thinned him to a stick, but he wasn’t like that. That wasn’t him.

“Well, I wouldn’t care. And I still don’t. If there’s another apocalypse, I’m throwing myself in the frontline.”

“No.”

“I’m not listening to you, Paul.”

“I said no.”

“ _I_ said no!” She argued back, and Paul placed his other hand on her shoulder.

“Listen close, Emma. It’s a no.”

Emma sighed then, displeased with his answer. There was a cold shudder that ran up her back when the door opened shortly after that when Colonel Schaffer returned with Paul’s latest results. It was something about how The Apotheosis was mainly gone from his bloodstream and he’d be discharged from the hospital with Emma, now known as ‘Kelly’ to a pot farm in Colorado. They both smiled warmly at that as she left. Emma found her heart beating, fearing for the worst, and she found hope in a heart attack. At last, she could put the past behind her and focus on moving forward.

“I’ve got my happiness, Em.” Paul’s smile changed to something much clearer, and he squeezed Emma’s hand. “I’ve got it, and there is no way in fucking hell can Pokey take it from me now. Even when I’m sleeping and I can see him in the dark, watching me, and he asks me if it’s worth it to keep trying. I always shake my head, that he can’t have my guilt, because there is something that guides me to the light. That something is you.” He looked at her, and she blushed slightly, her smile widening. “There is nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ that can come between me and you.”

“Sap,” she said, but ran her thumb over his knuckles.

“Maybe.” he shrugged admittedly. “But in my eyes, there is the tiny dancer, Pokotho, who watches over me, who watches over us, who watches over _this_ dimension at his little minions who sings, and he teases.” He cleared his throat and began to sing, “ _She's a, she's a lady, and I am just a boy.’_ He mocks me, that’s the point. And he’s singing, ‘ _she's a, she's a lady, and I am just a line without a hook.’_ But I don’t listen to him. He doesn’t own me anymore. But someone else does.”

“Who?” Concern raised by a high amount immediately as he spoke, and he smiled. It wouldn’t be bad news if he was smiling-

“It’s you. You claim me…and you can be mine if…that’s what you’d like?” He asked and looked to her eyes.

She pulled her chair closer and cupped his cheek with her hand, squeezing his hand once more. “Paul Matthews, I want nothing more than to be yours. But if we’re gonna be official…I believe I owe you a kiss?”

“I believe you do, Miss Perkins.”

Emma smiled brightly and let go of his hand, cupping his face with the both of them, pulling into a kiss that confirmed whatever feeling had been lingering between them for so long. Paul had given everyone hope so far. Because of Paul, Hatchetfield would get cured. Because of Paul, she had a reason to live. Because of Paul, the world hadn’t ended, and there wouldn’t be an apocalypse ever again. Hopefully. For now, it was Paul and Emma, and Emma and Paul, and nothing was coming between them.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> kUDOS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED, JUST KEEP COMMENTS FREE OF CRITICISM THANK U GOODBYE-


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